"You are a delightful egotist, Harry Hardinge; but I trust our memories may be reciprocal." "We have ever been such friends, and must be, you know, Winifred." "Yes, Harry; why should we _not_ be friends?" she asked, with a dash of passionate earnestness in her tone, while she gazed at me with a curious expression in her large, soft, and long-lashed eyes. "Have you any message for--for----" "Whom?" she asked, sharply. "Philip Caradoc." "None." "None!" "Save kindest regards and warmest wishes. What is Mr. Caradoc to me?" Then she gave a little shiver, as she added, "Our conversation is taking a very strange tone." "I cannot conceive in how I have annoyed you," said I, with something of sorrow and wonder in my heart. "Perhaps; but you have not annoyed me, though you are not quite what you used to be; and none are so blind as those who will not see." "I am quite perplexed. I think we know each other pretty well, Winifred?" said I, very softly. "I know you certainly," was the dubious response. "Well--and I you?" said I, laughing. "Scarcely. Woman, you should be aware, is a privileged enigma." "Well, I was about to say that, whatever happens, we must ever be dear friends, and think of each other kindly and tenderly, for the pleasant times that are past and gone." "What can happen to make us otherwise?" she asked, in a strange voice. "I--may be killed," said I, not knowing very well what to say or suggest; "so, while there is a chance of such a contingency, let us part kindly; not so coldly as this, dear Winifred; and kiss me ere I go." Her lips, warm and tremulous, touched mine for an instant; but her eyes were sad and wild, and her poor little face grew ashy white as she hastened away, leaving me with Estelle, who was approaching through the long and shaded room; and when with her, Winifred Lloyd and the momentary emotion that had sprung up--emotion that I cared not and dared not _then_ to analyse--were utterly forgotten. Our interview was a very silent one. We had barely time for a few words, and heavy on my heart as lead weighed the conviction that I had to part from her--my love so recently won, so firmly promised and affianced. I knew that the days of my sojourn at Winchester must be few now; and with the chances of war before me, and temptations and aristocratic ambition left behind with her, how dubious and how remote were the chances of our meeting again! Moments there were when I felt blindly desperate, and with my arms round Estelle. When returning, would she still love me, as Desdemona loved her Moor, for the dangers I had dared? The days of chivalry and romance have gone; but the "old, old story" yet remains to us, fresh as when first told in Eden. "For life or death, for good or for evil, for weal or woe, darling Estelle, I leave my heart in your keeping!" said I, in a low passionate whisper; "in twelve months, perhaps, I may claim you as my wife."